


Acts and Aftermath

by bladehuntress



Series: Burn Cream For Cats [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Accidental Deadnaming, Blanket Permission, Fire Sages React, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Misgendering, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Zuko (Avatar), Poison, Poisoning, accidental misgendering, based on Muffinlance, but since they haven't heard from spirit since they figured that out for themselves, deadnaming, it is genuinely accidental, it should be noted that this is not something they enjoy reacting to, see if you can pick out the references to spirit being catlike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24705595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladehuntress/pseuds/bladehuntress
Summary: The Fire Lord is dead, and the princess lies dying.The Fire Sages suspect it’s the work of the spirits. They’re only half-wrong.(Or: The Fire Lord was not poisoned or sick, so this must be a sign from Agni. Now if only they could find the lost prince.)
Series: Burn Cream For Cats [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731832
Comments: 169
Kudos: 1208





	1. Ozai's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MuffinLance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinLance/gifts).



> Guess who started writing a plan and got carried away. This idiot, that's who.  
> TW for misgendering and deadnaming. It's not in any way intentional, but still.  
> The italicised paragraphs are part of an introspective piece on anger and how Spirit experiences it. The second half will be in the second chapter.  
> Does this count as a birthday gift for Firstborn/congrats for Muffin? It does now. Muffin, don't let Firstborn read it until he's old enough. Ozai thinks 13 would be a good age.

When Sekitan returned to the royal infirmary, he found Takibi sitting outside the door to the healers’ wing, his legs drawn up to his chest and forehead pressed against his knees.

“Taki?” He crouched beside him and nudged him in the shoulder with one hand as Takibi drew in a shuddering breath. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Dead, he’s _dead_ ,” Takibi said, voice muffled by his knees. “The Fire Lord’s dead, and the princess isn’t far behind him.”

“Taki. You’re overreacting again. The palace healers are the best in the nation. You _know_ that! They should be able to identify this disease easily— “

* * *

_Once, their rage was fiery, before that fire had turned back on them in the form of an unforgiving hand and the quenching of hope. They’d learned, all right, and their fire had died in those long winters on the mountain, the last embers cooling and gathering and cooling some more, turning into something different entirely. They didn’t feel rage anymore, not in the way a firebender should. Their anger had solidified into a lump in their lungs, the kind that froze every breath that might otherwise have become a shout. It had frozen, and in turn it had frozen their fury and their haste, frozen their mind into apathy and indifference where before there might have been dry wood to burn. Their anger was cold, was ice, had evolved in those three years from the uncontrolled flame of a child into the cool calculation of a warrior, tempered only by the red-hot blade of a healer’s knowledge, the kind that could be used to both create a wound and to cauterise it. In another world, their rage might have only been stoked by the kindling that was hope, might have set alight anything around it and consumed its creator, burning what was left of their reasoning away until all that was left was fury and fire and misdirected vengeance – but this was not that world._

* * *

Takibi’s head snapped up to meets Sekitan’s gaze, his golden eyes boring holes into his head. “Except that it’s not a _disease!_ They couldn’t find _anything_ wrong with them; these symptoms have come out of nowhere! And their robes – their robes _burned_ the healers’ hands, and the burn cream isn’t working. It’s as if…” Shaken, he trailed off, not daring to voice the idea, as if scared that saying it would make it true. “They said there’s no disease that could do this. They said it came on too suddenly to be natural, and that the symptoms are like none they’ve ever heard of.”

“Poison, then.” Sekitan concluded, a cold ball of dread settling in his stomach.

Takibi shrugged and took another long, ragged breath. “They’re checking now. And the others are in there with them, just in case. So. But if it _is_ poison, it’s not one they’ve ever heard of before, and that— _well._ These are the palace healers. You know as well as I do that when I say that shouldn’t be possible, it’s the truth.”

* * *

_This was a world where that hope and desperation and everything that had come with it had been snuffed out before it could be formed, where they were not offered what they would have seen as an opportunity to carry the torch for their great nation. This was a world where they had thrown themselves not into a pointless search, but into learning, learning to heal, learning that too much medicine can be the worst thing for you – learning that hope is nothing more than a slow-acting poison, one with few symptoms, that smoulders in the back of the mind, creating nothing but suffocating smoke and waiting to be given oxygen – learning to take a step back and look at the whole situation rather than fixating on just one injury, to look not for its effects but its cause by recognising the signs, learning to find the rot that had caused the infection and learning how to destroy it – learning that that was the most important part of all._

* * *

“If it is,” Sekitan snapped, his mouth twisting into something that was half snarl and half grimace, “We have bigger issues to deal with than the healers’ ignorance of such a powerful poison. If it is, it’ll mean there’s an assassin running around the palace – running around the _whole nation_ – who we know _nothing_ about, with access to a poison we can’t recognise and can’t treat—”

“I _know!_ ” The vehemence of Takibi’s outburst made Sekitan turn to look at him again. His eyes were as round as the moon and bright with fear. “I know, okay? I’m just— _think._ If this is assassination – if this murder of our rulers is revenge for the war — who do you think will be next? We’re the only ones who can crown a Fire Lord!”

* * *

_This was a world where they found their honour as they stood alone on a battlefield, surrounded by the dead, and saw no reason. Where honour was created out of the gratitude of the farmers when they doused the remnant fires before they could reach their fields. Where honour was given to them in return for a promise by a dying soldier, and was returned to them by those they helped survive. By the earthbenders who watched them pull a dagger from a corpse’s stomach and heat it until it glowed to close their wounds, who found them a teacher in secret because they knew their healer understood the pain of fire just as well as any victim and refused to allow them to remain defenceless against vigilantes, who insisted on helping treat the wounded Fire Nation soldiers as soon as they could stand, who offered to hold the kettle as they boiled the water with their hands for medicinal tea, who smiled knowingly and said_ you did good, kid _even when they failed. By the people who saw pale skin and black hair and golden eyes and loved them despite it._

* * *

Sekitan stopped breathing. “Then we’d better hope the princess survives.”

A shadow crossed the light spilling out from the crack between the stone tiles and the door, and it was wrenched open only a moment later. Kemuri stood there, hair in disarray, with an expression they didn’t recognise on her face. Nokoribi, who was a little more composed, followed half a step behind her.

“What did they say?” Takibi gasped out. “Poison?”

Kemuri’s lips thinned as she shook her head. “No,” she said grimly. “Not poison.”

Sekitan grasped at straws. “A poison they didn’t recognise, then?”

“ _No!_ ” Kemuri shoved one bloodied hand in his face, as though to prove a point. “They _took apart_ his stomach! There’s nothing, nothing strange at _all_ , and not even any cuts on his body his blood could have been poisoned through.” Her voice turned shrill, and her breaths were rushed and shallow. “ _Nothing!_ ”

* * *

_They had been raised as a warrior, and they still were. But a warrior’s anger is something other than theirs, something that ignites quickly and burns itself out just as fast, something that exists only in the heat of battle, that grows and dies on a limited supply of tinder. It is necessary, just as necessary as war, to keep people alert, to keep them recognising the mistakes of the past – it makes new growth possible in place of the old. It is necessary for motion, just as it powers the ships and machines and people of the Fire Nation with its uncontained need to move, to shift, to change, just as the sun’s movements control the cycle of the seasons (a death and rebirth echoed in war), and it was a cycle that will continue, regardless of whatever temporary turmoil or peace might be found between humans, until the world falls to the spirits once more._

* * *

Nokoribi put a hand on Kemuri’s shoulder, pushing her down to sit beside Takibi. “Maki’s still in there.” She explained. For the first time Sekitan could remember, she didn’t look like her daughter: where Kemuri’s frenzied eyes reminded him of her youth, Nokoribi’s worry-lines aged her. “I went to check with the kitchen staff as soon as poison was mentioned. They hadn’t seen anything unusual either.” She shook her head. “No new hires, no servants poking around. Not a single thing out of place.”

“It _can’t_ be!” Takibi’s voice was weak and breathy. “It can’t be, I _can’t_ , no, no— “

“I think,” Nokoribi sighed, “At this point, we don’t have any choice but to accept that this was an act of the spirits.”

* * *

_A healer’s anger is something entirely different._

* * *

“Spirits!” Kemuri’s voice broke. “The spirits at work on the physical plane! They’re punishing the Fire Nation for opposing the Avatar, and they want to get their revenge for this war, they’ll _kill us all_ —"

“Kemuri!” Nokoribi snapped. “ _Please._ Nothing is for certain, not yet.”

“Except that it _is_ ,” Sekitan said quietly. “There’s no other explanation. So soon after they repelled the Avatar’s invasion _on the Day of the Black Sun_ — Agni has abandoned them.” He looked around the small circle of sages, who had fallen silent. “There are no royals left. We have no leader.”

“The princess is still alive!” Takibi said desperately.

“Not for long!”

 _“Enough!”_ Nokoribi breathed a small flame into her palm and handed it off to her daughter, whose breaths evened out as she was forced to control it, lest she burn her hands. “Sekitan,” she said, “You’re almost right. The Fire Lord is dead, and his heir lies dying. Ursa is dead or lost. The Dragon of the West is missing. But all hope is not lost.” She glanced between their faces, waiting for them all to meet her eyes before continuing. “There’s still Zuko.”

* * *

_A healer’s anger – when that healer deals with the victims of war, when their mind and hands are forged in the furnace of battle and sharpened by the whetstone of soldiers’ wounds and polished by an intimate understanding of the battlefield – that is an anger that lasts, more comparable to the sea than anything else, an anger that builds up over a long distance and a long time, beginning with an earthquake of betrayal that scars the ground in a cove and ending with a tsunami on the other side of the world. A healer’s anger has consequences that rarely surface outside of the long term, perhaps even decades after whatever event might have roused it, and it was something that might seem unworthy of notice when it started (something that might have even avoided detection when it started), but when that wave comes crashing down, when your home is flooded and the cold hands of the sea drag you down, you wonder how this happened, what could you possibly have done to cause this – and you might remember that healer, or you might not, but it won’t matter by then._

* * *

_“Zuko?”_ The thought was so ludicrous that Sekitan almost wanted to laugh. “The banished prince? The banished prince who we don’t even know is _alive?_ ”

Frowning, Nokoribi shook her head. “I’ve heard reports of a teenager acting as the Avatar’s firebending teacher. By all accounts, he has a horrific burn scar over the left half of his face.”

Kemuri lifted her head, reluctantly dragging her eyes away from the flame. “You’re certain?”

“As certain as I’ve ever been.”

* * *

_And when all is said and done, when the tide recedes once more and the sea settles back into its rhythm, its own eternal cycle of rising and falling, when the surface calms and the silt on the seabed drifts back down and the water is clear once more? It is only then that people finally understand what has happened._

* * *

“That could not happen by chance! Agni must have guided him through the last three years. He’s here now because he is Agni’s chosen Fire Lord!” Kemuri’s eyes shone with newfound determination. “We _have_ to find him.” She leapt to her feet, dispersing her flame with a practised movement. “Mother! Where was our prince last seen?”

“In all likelihood, he’s retreated with the rest of the rebels. We’ll send out scouts, but that’s the most we can do.” She caught Kemuri by the arm. “I’m sorry. For now, that’s all we can do.”

Takibi stood too, relief evident on his face. “But at least it’s _something._ ”

Sekitan smiled. “Then we have a plan.”

* * *

_And even then, they still don’t understand how._


	2. Nothing Lasts Forever But The Certainty Of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By now, Spirit's realised that people don't question bullshit unless you give them an opportunity to.
> 
> They're determined not to give anyone that opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so what was chapter 2 has become far, far longer than I'd expected. This is what I've written so far. I'm not sure how many parts I'll publish the rest in yet, but there'll be a lot of worldbuilding in them.
> 
> In this, there's quite a bit of experimenting in writing styles and tones, sorry if that throws you off at all. Parts of this, though were a delight to write, and I wrote about Spirit meeting Sekitan with utter glee. That's a fun scene.
> 
> Also, the rest of last chapter's introspection is in this chapter — the paragraphs in italics, separating the scenes. It was going to be more spread out, but then I realised the irony of some of the contrasts between it and this chapter, so. You'll know the part I'm talking about when you read it.
> 
> TW for referenced suicide and for (unintentional) deadnaming and misgendering.
> 
> As always, any and all corrections and suggestions about anything are more than welcome.
> 
> And, most of all, thank you for taking the time to read my works!

_The Fire Nation saw the ocean whipped up into a storm by their own actions in the North Pole. It had been a storm a hundred years in the making, growing with every fresh misdemeanour deep in the blackest reaches of the sea. They learned, then, very, very quickly, what the rage of the ocean felt like. More than that, they learned exactly how good of an idea it is to provoke a spirit, whether or not that happened to be their nature or merely their name. Of course, this wasn’t the reason they’d taken the name, but it certainly was ironic, when they thought about it._ In the end, _Spirit would one day say with a wry smile,_ don’t we always come to reflect the names we give ourselves? 

* * *

"Have you heard the rumours?"

The decision to stay close to the Caldera as they decided their next move hadn’t been a unanimous one. Sokka, of course, wanted to go and break his father out of prison, and Aang only encouraged him. It had taken her hog-tying them both and explaining why it was a categorically bad idea (backed by Spirit’s tales of the impregnable Boiling Rock and Pohuai Fortress) to bring them down from their adrenaline-fueled determination. Toph and Spirit, on the other hand, had seemed happy to follow her lead, not having any better ideas themselves.

After Sokka had, albeit reluctantly, seen the logic in staying, he’d offered to go for supplies. The closest market was far enough away that nobody would recognise him, but near enough to the capital to get news – and if he was going to formulate a plan, he was going to need to know that news.

Apparently, he’d found it.

"Rumours?" She glances up from Spirit’s hair to see Sokka jogging downhill towards them. "Are they true, or just… rumours?"

"No idea." Sokka shrugs. "That’s why it’s a rumour, isn’t it? But if it is, well, all our problems have just solved themselves for us."

Katara pauses, giving Sokka a longer look through her lashes. "Is that right? We have a _lot_ of problems, Sokka. What, did the Fire Lord—"

"Drop dead?"

Katara’s hands stop moving. Beside her, Toph turns her ear towards Sokka; Spirit slowly leans forward, pulling Katara with them. She can’t see their face, but she has no doubt that they are focused on Sokka with terrifying intensity.

"You mean," they say, voice soft and rough like walking on gravel, "the Fire Lord’s dead?"

Sokka’s smile falls. "Sorry," he says, slinging the sack of supplies onto the ground and sitting down to open it. "I hadn’t thought – yes. Rumour has it the Fire Lord’s dead, and Azula, too." Katara watches the back of Spirit’s head nervously, half-worried about their reaction, but they only take a deep breath and sigh, leaning back into her hands.

Aang frowns. "How?" he asks, moving to help sort through the supplies. "The invasion was a failure, and if Spirit and Toph didn’t notice anything—" He cuts himself of, eyes flicking between them.

"Nope." Toph says, popping the end of the word. "The only things out of place there were us."

"If they didn’t notice anything, then how can they be dead?"

"That’s the _interesting_ part." Sokka grins. "They say they just… dropped dead. No warning, nothing the healers could do. They just _died_." His voice drops to a hushed whisper, like he’s revealing a great secret. "They say the Fire Sages think it was the Sun Spirit."

Aang hums. "It would make sense," he decides. "The spirits probably want to end this war just as much as we do. Remember Hei Bai? If enough minor spirits got angry enough, the Great Spirits might be compelled to do something."

"Did you hear anything else, then?" Katara taps Spirit’s shoulder, and Spirit raises a hand piled with beads for her to pick from. "They’ll need to act quickly, right? To replace them?"

Sokka nods. "Nobody’s really sure," he starts, "But somebody mentioned that the Fire Sages have started searching for you, Spirit. And it’s not like we really hid during the invasion, so they’ll probably find us sooner, rather than later."

"They want Spirit to be Fire Lord?" Toph grins. "How much you wanna bet they’ll have _no idea_ how to react to them?"

"I’m not taking that bet!" Sokka throws a loaf of bread at Toph. "We _both_ know who’d win!"

Toph only cackles and digs her heel into the earth, knocking Sokka and Aang off-balance.

As the conversation derails, Katara ties off the last braid and places a hand on Spirit’s shoulder. "Are you okay?" She hesitates. "I mean – they were your family. Did you want to – to hold a vigil, or something? I don’t really know how this works in the—"

"No." Spirit twists to the right to look at Katara with their good eye as they run their hands over their hair, getting an idea as to how it looks. "Ozai was _never_ my father. And Azula…" Briefly, they close the eye Katara can see. “She hasn’t been my sister for a long time.”

Katara feels her face soften. "Do you hate her?"

Spirit shakes their head, staring at the rim of the Caldera. "I can’t. And I wouldn’t, even if I could. I remember how she was, before… _that_ , when she was just my little sister." They meet Katara’s gaze, their voice quiet and their face sad and their eye hard. "In the end, everything she became was twisted out of her by Ozai; I don’t hate her because _she_ was as much his victim as _I_ was, only in a different way.

"With both me and the Dragon of the West missing, there was nothing, _no one_ , to shield her from him – and she had already seen what happened to _disobedient children._ Would you risk it, knowing there was _nothing_ that could protect you? Would you risk it, knowing you had always been his _favourite?"_ They break eye contact as they stand, offering their hand to pull Katara to her feet, and give her a small, regretful smile. "Remember: they bigger they are, the harder they fall, and Azula always _was_ a prodigy."

* * *

_But Spirit is neither a warrior nor a healer, not anymore. They’re something in between, and their anger is one of the places it shows. Their anger is long-lasting, yes, building up over time, but it is as direct as a warrior’s. It's more like ice than the tumultuous sea and its moments of rest and moments of_ not, _or a mindless bonfire with suffocating smoke and lifeless ashes. It is a brilliantly,_ dazzlingly _white glacier clinging to the side of a volcano, unmoving even as smoke and spitting lava fills the air around it. It is calm, even as it destroys; a force that builds with every chill, every squall and every blizzard, too high and too close to the ever-watchful sun to melt, compacting and strengthening with every sub-zero night, every early frost, every late spring. It is calm and it is still and it does not move._

* * *

When Nokoribi stumbles into the antechamber, out of breath and grinning like a mad thing, Sekitan knows this is it.

"Whoa!" He catches her by the wrist to steady her as she overbalances. Her pulse hammers against her skin like it’s trying to escape. "How far did you run?"

She waves him off, smacking his hands away. "Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter." Her eyes crinkle at the edges, and he finds himself smiling back at her. "I know where he is!"

"Well, you need to catch your breath before you talk to Kaen." He grimaces. "And calm down a bit, I think. He’ll have your head, otherwise."

"Yeah." Nokoribi takes a deep breath and links her hands over her head. "It’s just – after all this _time_ …"

"I know." Sekitan smiles again, then raps his knuckles against the door. "Head Sage Kaen?"

"Enter."

Sekitan gives Nokoribi one last smile, and pushes open the door.

The office is warm, bright and inviting. The man in the chair is not. "You found him."

Nokoribi draws herself up to her full height. "Yes, sir. My spies—"

"I suppose we’re not paying them for nothing, then."

“Yes, sir. My spies heard a rumour in a village on the slopes of—“

“I don’t care,” Kaen snaps, his voice harsh.

Nokoribi’s fists clench. Sekitan, standing half a step behind her, places one hand on the small of her back to ground her; the fires dim as she carefully lets out her breath. " _Yes, sir._ "

The firelight casts shadows across Kaen’s face as he turns to look at his nephew. "Sekitan, you will bring him here to be coronated."

Sekitan’s eyes widen, disbelieving. "But, sir—"

"Nokoribi, you may supervise him. Don’t interfere unless he’s about to get himself killed." She nodded shortly, and he turned narrowed eyes onto Sekitan. "Well?"

"Yes, sir." He bites out.

"And if you’ve not returned by the end of the week, I’ll assume _you’re_ dead and _he’s_ not coming. Now _go!"_

* * *

_But nothing can remain forever: it is a law of the universe that something, eventually, must give way, must_ change. _The balance must be lost before it can be found. And when that sheet of ice reaches its critical mass, when there has been one too many snowstorms, when it teeters on the edge of a mountainside, tethered in place by nothing but the arctic temperature, it takes only one spark in the right place to start moving._

* * *

Sekitan doesn’t know how they’d known they were coming, but they definitely knew they were coming.

"Fire Sages," the bald kid nods respectfully, and Sekitan stares because _that kid’s bald that kid has a tattoo oh my spirits that’s the Avatar—_

Nokoribi elbows him in the ribs and shoves him forwards. Spurred into action, he bows shallowly, unwilling to take his eyes away from the _actual frosted Avatar_ that was standing in front of him.

Nokoribi elbows him again, and he looks away (the kid sags in relief; that had been getting unnerving), searching for something – _anything_ – else to look at and – _oh_.

Sekitan stops breathing.

There’s a Fire Nation teen sitting on a flat-topped stone, all beautifully braided hair and pale skin, looking directly at him with one golden eye and – _ohhhhh_.

Oh _no._

Sekitan does not know how to react to his Prince’s face being what can only be described as _mutilated_. He was not trained for this. This is _exactly_ why he hadn’t wanted to come.

He sneaks a look at Nokoribi out of the corner of his eye, and she seems to be trying not to react. Better follow suit.

Sekitan very carefully _does not react_. But now he’s staring, and he doesn’t think he can talk right now, so they’re just kind of – _staring_ at each other now, and it’s getting awkward really, _really_ quickly.

He clears his throat, and, when he feels like he can talk without his voice breaking, he opens his mouth to talk.

"Zuko! Crown Zuko. Prince Zuko – ask you – Fire Lord Zuko? Fire Lord!" And just like that, he’s somehow made it _ten times worse_. Nokoribi puts her head in her hands. A tiny black-haired girl hurls herself behind a rock (was that even there a moment ago?) and starts laughing like there’s no tomorrow. The other kids are avoiding eye contact and generally looking like they’re trying very hard not to follow her. The prince is just staring. Sekitan does his best to focus on the right eye, because the left is solid white where the sclera has grown over the iris and pupil and he _cannot deal with that right now._

"It’s Spirit," the prince corrects, standing and smoothing down his green dress.

"Um." Sekitan says, doing his best not to ask about the dress. And the hair. And the – _everything_. "Spirit Lord Zuko?"

The prince cringes. "No, I’m not called Zuko anymore. My name’s Spirit."

Sekitan exchanges a look with Nokoribi. "Spirit Lord Spirit?" he tries, then winces as it sends rock-girl into another fit of laughter.

"I – what? No! _Fire Lord Spirit._ "

Sekitan lets out a long breath and nods. "Okay. Fire Lord— I mean, Prince Spirit. Okay. If. If I may ask…"

Spirit waves a hand. "I’m not a Prince – not a _he,_ I mean. I prefer _them_."

Which makes sense, considering all of the _everything_. "You’re Touched?" he asks, but Spirit just looks confused. "Spirit-touched?"

Realisation dawns on Spirit’s face. "If that’s what you want to call it." They pause, their eye still fixed on his in that uncanny gaze. Sekitan isn’t sure if they’ve blinked this whole time. "Rumour has it the royal family’s dead."

Sekitan tenses, and Nokoribi rests her hand on his arm. "They are."

"Then I take it you’re here because I’m next in line?"

"We are. You were never _officially_ banished, you know."

"Only because nobody expected me to survive," Spirit returns mildly, but they smile gently as they say it, and Sekitan realises that they’re trying to put him at ease, because that statement absolutely was _not_ helping.

Sekitan’s shoulders drop as he allows himself to relax a little. He straightens his back, looks Spirit in their good eye, and says: "Crown Pr— _oh, for_ —" he shoots a desperate glance at Nokoribi, who looks almost like she’s in pain.

"Crown Heir will suffice," Spirit offers, and Sekitan is getting the distinct impression that they’re amused by this, but he smiles his gratitude anyway, because they seem to be doing their best to make this easier nevertheless.

"Crown Heir Spirit, I am here on behalf of the Fire Sages. Will you accept the position of Fire Lord?"

Spirit inclines their head, black as night braids slipping over their shoulders and fanning around their face _just so_. "I am honoured to accept." And then they smile warmly and blink in a motion that seems bigger than it really is, and look at a spot of nothing over his shoulder.

Sekitan hears Nokoribi give a sigh of relief. "Then I ask that you come to the palace as soon as possible, to claim your crown."

"Actually," the Water Tribe girl suggests, "If you don’t mind staying a while, we can pack up now and return with you. It won’t take long; we don’t have much."

Sekitan turns to face her, and gives her a little bow. It’s mainly to put her at ease – she’s a Water Tribe girl in the Fire Nation, after all – but it doesn’t seem to work, because she just starts wringing her hands awkwardly. “Thank you,” he smiles, and that seems to work better. "We’ll just wait a little way away from your camp, then."

And then two adult Fire Sages flee from a group of children.

* * *

_And when it started moving – when they'd looked up from their tight-woven wicker basket of fresh-foraged comfrey and seen a forest filled with archers and a legacy of a time long lost – well, that was all it had taken to break that tentative hold, to set them on the long path downhill. And that immense sheet of ice became a glacier, slow at first and following the easiest route but building momentum, building speed, until it began to carve its_ own _path through the stone, leaving in its wake the deep,_ beautiful _scars of new valleys that would soon bloom green with new rivers and life, shaping the earth at its leisure; a force of nature unseen since the age of the spirits, its sheer power and will inexorable, crushing everything in its way, yet providing a solid surface to walk on for those who knew it, who looked at the surface of the ice and saw stability and certainty, who trusted what it gave them and looked no further to see what it had wreaked on others._

* * *

"Have you heard the rumours?"

Choko grins. As tiring as her job is – especially recently – she could always trust Ming to be waiting for her at the end of her shift with a warm meal in her hands and the day’s gossip on her lips. As much as she hates the long hours of the graveyard shift, the generous pay meant they could stay close to Ming’s family in the Caldera, and that alone made everything worth it for her.

"You know I haven’t. What’s new today?"

Ming smiles and strokes a hand through Choko’s hair, pulling it free of the topknot and combing through it with her fingers. "Actually, there was one I was hoping you could confirm for me, Cho-dear. Word around town has it that the prince returned today, and Bo – you know, the street vendor? – he swears up and down that the _Avatar_ came with him!"

"Well, that’s true enough," Choko laughs at Ming’s floored expression, leaning into her touch when her hand pauses. "But that’s not even the _half_ of it. They call themselves Spirit now; Crown Heir Spirit, I think it was, and they came with the Avatar and all of his teachers as well…"

"Fire Lord Spirit,” Ming says slowly, feeling out the words. “They?"

Choko nods. " _They_."

A smile creeps across Ming’s face, and Choko feels something inside her melt at the sight of it. It’s the exact same smile that had struck her in the chest when they’d first met, after she’d dragged the pair of drunk teenagers back to the pretty baker whose stall they’d knocked over, and it doesn’t affect her any less after all these years. "They, then," she agrees lightly, gently tugging on a lock of hair. "Bo’s going to have a fit when he hears that they’re called _Spirit_. I mean… and they still have their firebending? They’re not cursed?"

Choko presses her face into Ming’s neck. "You’re not going to believe this," she says, voice muffled, "but I think we’ve really hit gold with this one. More like _blessed_ , I’d say; they’re the Avatar’s firebending teacher, so if any of the spirits were upset… well, they’d know about it." Ming hums, and Choko feels the vibration of it against her cheek as her wife drops her chin to rest on her shoulder. "The poor thing, though – all calloused and dirty from travel, and – oh, _Ming_ , they have this awful, _awful_ scar right across their face and really, the less said about what the Head Sage thinks of it the better. _The Fire Lord should appear perfect!"_ she mimics. "I can’t… _Ugh_."

"Ugh," Ming echoes. "Cho-dear, you’re taking some sun-cakes for them and their friends tomorrow, and you _better_ find a way to give them to them, you hear me?"

"Of course, love," Choko sighs, then shakes her head to clear it. "Bo still thinks he’s hot stuff, huh? I wonder how any of you sell anything, with all the time you must spend talking to, well, _everyone_."

“Just a part of the job, Cho-dear,” Ming murmurs, and then neither of them talk for a long, long time, content to listen to each other’s heartbeats and watch the world turn around them and, for the first time since they were young, allow themselves to dream of peace.

* * *

_The ice spread cold like ripples, and it was bright enough under the sun that it hurt the eyes of any that dared gaze upon it, and it was so cold that it burned any that dared touch it, but the only people who might be able to see it for what it truly_ was _had been blinded by friendship, and the only people with the ability to shift its focus wore mittens that would slip if they tried._

* * *

It had all led up to this.

This moment. Everything they had ever done, all of their planning, led up to this moment.

The crown pulls uncomfortably at their hair. It feels heavier, now that they were wearing it, than it had in their hands before the ceremony. Perhaps, now that it is theirs to wear, it carries more than just the weight of the metal it was made of.

They take a deep breath.

It doesn’t feel how they’d expected it to, this moment. They’d thought that the air might be charged, that they might be able to feel their pulse in their ears, that they might _need_ the deep breath. But somehow, this just feels…

For lack of a better word, it feels _right_. Fitting. Like pulling on a favourite pair of boots, worn and old and moulded to the shape of your feet, that you’d lost at the back of your wardrobe. Or like dressing a wound for the first time, with the old herbalist at their back instructing them. That feeling of familiar unfamiliarity, that quiet voice in the back of your head that says _oh, this is what I want, I can’t believe it took me so long to see it_ , that small, slow realisation that, despite what you’ve been told, you _can_ miss what you’ve never known.

Yes, it feels _right_.

Once, the stairs had felt like a barrier; the dais had been just one more thing separating them from their never-father. But they were just _stairs_. They were only _ever_ just stairs.

In front of the throne, they turn. Beside their friends, the Fire Sages stand just beyond the flames, the firelight flickering over their faces and casting shadows over their eyes. The woman who’d accompanied the young man to find them smiles reassuringly, the crow’s feet crinkling her skin and revealing the sincerity of her expression. To her left, the Head Sage seems to be doing his utmost to not have an expression at all.

This is the moment.

They sit.

Abruptly, the fire flares magnesium-white, flaring up like a grease fire, burning blue afterimages into their retina. Their eyes close of their own volition, the intensity of the light visible through their eyelid. Spirit cringes back, away from the light and heat of the supernatural flames.

It doesn’t take long for the light to dim, the orange shining through their eyelid darkening to mottled red. Slowly, half-expecting another flare of light, they open their eyes.

They immediately wish they hadn’t.

There’s a dragon. There’s a _dragon_ in the throne room and it’s looking at them. Dragons are supposed to be extinct and _there is an impossibility looking at them._

Hoping it might be an afterimage, they blink.

It’s still there.

The flames, still unbearable to look at, haven’t died down in the slightest, forming a wall cutting them off from the rest of the throne room, and, more importantly, trapping them in with a dragon and a girl.

A _white-haired_ girl. A white-haired girl who they _know_.

Well.

That explains a lot. And also _nothing at all._

"It’s good to see you again," Yue smiles sympathetically, which is in no way comforting. "I hope you don’t mind us crashing your coronation?"

"Yue," they greet uncertainly, "or is it Tui now?"

She beams at them, like she hasn’t just turned their world upside-down. "Yue is fine!" she chirps, then gestures in the vague direction of the dragon that Spirit was trying to forget about. "And this is my brother."

"Your… brother." Spirit repeats. "Oh Agni. I mean – you’re _Agni!"_

"I am," Agni agrees, looking highly amused. "We are here to speak with you, Fire Lord Spirit."

Spirit slumps, too relieved that that the sun spirit has accepted them as Fire Lord to remember the proper words for such a meeting. "Oh, thank Agni! I mean, thank _you_ , Agni," they quickly rephrase, looking to Yue for support.

She steps forward, smoothly taking over the conversation. "We don’t do this often," she explains, "but Agni felt it best to speak to you _directly_ , as the Head Sages have been ignoring his messages since Sozin’s time. And because I wanted to see you, too."

Spirit purses their lips. "Any moment now, Aang is going to try bending your spirit-fire," they gesture to the flames. "They’ll get worried if I don’t let them know what’s happening."

"No," Agni says, looking as smug as a dragon can. "Time is nothing but the progression of the sun and the moon across the sky, and Tui and I are both _here_. Our respective satellites have stopped moving; the only place where time continues is here."

Spirit stares, feeling a little faint. "Right," they say weakly. "Okay. That’s – that’s great."

"We’re here for a few reasons," Agni continues. "Firstly, to reassure you that no spirits will attack you over your name." He pauses, resting his head on his tail and purring like a cat. "It was a close thing, with some of the minor spirits, but my sister vouched for you, and most of us don’t mind anyway – it’s not like it’s a specific name, and the reputation that comes with a name like Spirit may be useful. The Great Spirits won’t interfere with you either. You’ve helped all of our nations, and we’re hoping you can fix this on your own. The original plan was to teach the Avatar a lost form of bending, if it came down to it, but there’s a _reason_ we allowed it to die out. Besides, you can’t _really_ mess things up more than they already are."

"It helps that they all think you’re hilarious," Yue confides. "That being said, we are interfering a little, but we don’t think the others will care, since the other reason we’re here is to offer you a gift."

"You’ll have to wait a little for mine," Agni cuts in. "The Sun Warriors still live in their ruins. Go there, and it will be given to you."

"My gift is a little more straightforward, I think." Yue grins like a shark. "I want to offer you my blessing."

"Your _blessing?"_ Spirit looks at her, uncomprehending. "You don’t mean—"

"No," Yue laughs. "No, I’m not giving you waterbending, silly. It’ll only make your firebending stronger at night. Where other firebenders rise with the sun, _you_ will never set."

"But how is that possible?" Spirit bursts out. "Your element is _opposite_ to mine. How can it _enhance_ it?"

"It’s hard to explain to a human." Yue sighs thoughtfully, considering how to word her answer. "Have you ever held salt and ice to your skin? The elements of my domain can burn _just_ as easily as Agni’s. And the moon acts as a conduit for both the sun and sea; my light is a reflection of my brother’s, just as all light is borrowed from him. He is its source, regardless of how I change it. All I will do is grant you the ability to use _my_ light, and the light of the stars, as you would the _sun_." She smiles self-deprecatingly. "Likely you will be able to see better at night, too."

Spirit nods in understanding. "Thank you, Yue. I would be delighted to have your blessing. And thank you too, Agni, and all of the other spirits."

"You’re most welcome," Agni rumbles, standing as Yue moves to his side, "and I’m sure they’ll say the same."

"Before we go," Yue says, placing one hand on Agni’s shoulder to stall him, "I have a message for Suki." Spirit tenses, and she must see it, because she shakes her head. "Tell her that she is the kind of woman I wish my tribe had allowed me to become. And," she calls, raising her voice as she fades, “tell her the wedding better be under the full moon!"

* * *

_Spirit might be nothing more than human, but they heard the tales of what had happened in the waters of the North Pole as they guarded the Spirit Oasis, and ever since, when they heard the distant thunder (whether it was the kind that rolled across the sky like a blanket or the kind that roared its hate to any who would listen or the kind that clashed and crashed like the echoes of a faraway battlefield), they smiled, because this was something they_ knew. _They looked at the jetsam bobbing alongside the harbour's ice walls and the flotsam washing up on the beaches of the Earth Kingdom and they thought,_ this is something I know. _They looked at the vengeance that the spirits had wrought and saw themselves. They walked through the snow on their mountain’s peak and recognised it as a mirror of that cool certainty between their ribs._

* * *

Many things had been blamed on the spirits recently. Kaen’s death would be, too.

The healers would find that he had burned his own skin off, screaming in pain. He would die less than an hour after his screams were first heard.

What could cause a skilled Sage to lose control of his fire but a spirit? And what spirit but the spirit of fire himself?

On the other side of the palace, a teenager would smile secretly to themselves behind their thick mask and thicker gloves. They would carefully place their potted cutting back into its glass case, relight its burner, wrap it in thick leather and stow it at the bottom of their trunk.

They hadn’t thought the suicide plant’s name was so literal.

* * *

_They saw fire turning back on its creators and they_ understood. _And they were glad that they’d left_ that _kind of fire behind a long time ago. They were grateful that they had seen fire for what it was and that it had set their face and hair and eye ablaze and that they had woken weeks later to bandages and smiling soldiers and soft, sweet sun. That they had found their own kind of cold fire within themselves, one that didn’t crackle and leap and leave afterimages even when they avoided looking directly at it. They were grateful, in the end, that they had been shown that fire was the sun and stars, was warmth and light by day and direction and safety by night, that it meant_ life _when it stopped bleeding and when it brought colour back into lips blue with hypothermia. But most of all, they were grateful that they had been shown what fire could be in the hands of those who fed it with destruction and hatred and flesh._

* * *

"Have you heard the rumours?"

"They’re no rumours." Ming looks sternly at the younger man. "If you’re talking about Kaen’s death, that is. Choko told me about it herself – she was one of the first to hear his screams."

"Then you know _how_ he died?" Bo leans forward eagerly, bouncing on his toes. "All anyone else knows is that he’s dead."

Ming sighs, pausing in stocking her stall. It’s still dark, and she’s tired; the horror of it had given Choko a nightmare, and they’d both had very little sleep after that. "She said he burned to death." She raises a hand to forestall Bo’s next question. "He wasn’t attacked. It was _his own fire."_

Bo pales. "But he was a Fire Sage – the _Head_ Sage! How could _he_ have lost control?"

"Spirits." Ming theorises, tucking the last basket under the stall. "As so many things are, nowadays."

"Agni must be angry," Bo concludes. "Only he could do that to someone’s fire. Kaen likes – _liked_ the war, and the new Fire Lord wants to end it."

"Are you done?" Ming huffs, leaning against the wall behind her and gesturing to the customers trickling into the marketplace. "Or will we stand here all day talking and sell nothing?" Bo flushes, turning away and muttering an apology.

Only a few minutes later, she rolls her eyes as Bo grins at her, hands his first customer a bowl, and asks the question he’s become known for asking.

"Have you heard the rumours?"

* * *

_Because that was a fire that did not preserve life. That was a fire that_ consumed _it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The suicide plant, better known as the gympie gympie, has microscopic needle-like structures on its leaves, stem and flowers containing neurotoxin. Just brushing past the plant can cause these needle to embed themselves in your skin, break off, and inject you with neurotoxin.
> 
> The pain it causes is one of, if not _the_ worst in the world. It's been described as such things as being set on fire, having acid poured on you, and being electrocuted, _all at the same time._ Whilst it can cause death, either by anaphylaxic shock or by heart attacks (which are theorised to be caused by screaming so much your heart gives out), most people survive the pain, though it can take years to go away and can still resurface years afterwards. Did I mention that there's no known way to numb or ease the pain? And that the only way to get the needles out is to _pour hydrochloric acid on them_ and then wax the area?
> 
> The pain has been known, however, to drive people and animals to suicide.
> 
> In Kaen's case, he didn't mean to kill himself. Whilst the plant itself has no visible effect, often victims must be strapped down to beds and chairs to stop them from _literally clawing their own skin off._ Kaen, as a firebender, was so desperate that he did the same, just with extra fire.


	3. And Icarus Rises From The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The comet approaches, and with it approaches the end of the war.
> 
> Everybody knows the war will end when it arrives. One way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, prepare for one hell of a lot of worldbuilding.

“Lady Blue! Lady Blue! Have you heard the news?”

“That depends what news you’re referring to, Lee,” smiles the Lady, standing from her place in the corner of the pub to snatch a spare chair from the next table, waiting out of politeness for him to take it before slipping back into hers. She sits straight-backed, her movements fluid and certain, and Lee is struck for a moment by the dichotomy that is the strange woman. She’d remained in the town after taking down the soldiers who’d bullied their way into power, and never once spoken of her past – for all he knew, she might be some beggar from the next town over, but there's something about her, something he can’t _quite_ put his finger on, that tells him that she is _more_. Not more in the _spirit_ way, for all that she calls herself one, but more in the way that means she is out of place here, a stranger in a strange town with nowhere else to go. She is _more_ in the way that made him call her _Lady,_ because that is what she is, to him, a Lady with a capital L, the kind who’d ended up in the last place she should be and decided to stay. “I take it you’re not referring to Siu Li’s engagement?”

Lee shakes his head, digging the sheet of paper, crumpled from travel, out of his pocket, straightening it as best he could before offering it to her. “No, Lady. This!” She takes it delicately, and Lee watches her face intently, trying to gauge her reaction. He can’t read yet (not substantial amounts, at least, and definitely nothing written so _small),_ but from the way her eyes widen with every line she reads and her hand comes up to curl her long fingers around her collarbone, it at least isn’t _terrible._

“Well,” she clears her throat. _“Well.”_

“What does it say?” Lee asks, eager to know what had so surprised the usually unflappable woman as to leave her grasping at words.

“It seems… that a lot has been happening in the Fire Nation, in the time I’ve been here. Fire Lord Ozai is dead, if you’ll believe it, and they’ve put – the formerly lost former Prince on the throne.”

“Oh,” Lee frowns, “is that all? Not that – I mean, does it say anything else at all?”

The Lady nods, her eyes distant, unfocused, staring through the paper rather than at it. “The new Fire Lord has ordered a ceasefire on all fronts. I think,” she trails off, carefully placing the sheet on the table. “I’ve – heard of this person. I think the Fire Nation might stop. Stop _fighting.”_

“Really?” Lee beams at her. He believes her, of course. She’s never led them wrong before.

“Yes.” Lady Blue smiles, a soft, sad thing that doesn’t fit on her face. Her eyes snap up to meet his, the startling yellow that had been the source of rumours and mistrust before she’d become an accepted figure in the village still as shocking as the first time he’d seen it. “Lee,” she says, reaching for the blue-and-white mask set on the table. She picks it up, sliding it into place over her face, pulling the ribbon around the back of her head and winding her long black hair – hair the likes of which he’d never seen before – neatly around it to secure it. “Go tell your parents and anyone else you see that I need to be leaving now. It’s high time the Blue Spirit arrived on Fire Nation shores.”

* * *

When he’d arrived at the palace, he hadn’t really known what to expect. He’d spent his trip pondering, trying to parse Spirit’s character from the vague poster that had gone up outside the Jasmine Dragon, but there were few clues to be found. He knew, of course, that such a name change could only be accompanied by an equally drastic change in personality, but he had no idea _what_ that change was. Was the new Fire Lord cruel and cunning, ordering a ceasefire to catch the Earth Kingdom off guard with an ambush? Or were they reckless and rash, ordering a truce so soon after ascending to power?

Iroh had no way of knowing. But, even as he had hoped for the best, he had, as always, prepared for the worst.

Now, as he settles on a cushion opposite Fire Lord Spirit, a short table between them, he realises that all his worries had been for naught.

“Tea?” Spirit offers, their eyes not leaving his as they pick up the teapot, the movement smooth and measured. “It’s Assam Black. My skills have increased since we last saw each other, though I’m less skilled with this than with medicinal brews.”

“Thank you,” Iroh smiles, graciously accepting the cup. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I’d wondered what happened to you,” Spirit smiles, but their eyes are sharp and narrow. “It’s a relief to find out that you escaped before Ozai decided _you_ were in his way, too.” They sit back as Iroh takes a sip of his tea. It's good – they hadn’t lied about their skills – but not perfect. There's a strange _sweetness_ to it, though, and he can’t help but wonder if they’d added honey to it, as was common in medicinal teas to hide the bitter taste.

“I worried about you, too.” Iroh sighs, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I only knew that Ozai had sent you to the Earth Kingdom – I never knew _where._ I looked everywhere I could think of, everywhere I had contacts, but I couldn’t find you. Obviously.” He stares down into his teacup. “Eventually, I went to Ba Sing Se. Refugees arrive there every day, and I’d hoped you might be one of them.”

Spirit laughs. “No. An old herbalist treated my burn, and I ended up staying and learning her trade, and much more besides. And Miyuki lives with her, and _she_ was like a mother to me.”

“Miyuki?” Iroh asks, finishing his tea. When Spirit doesn’t respond to the prompt, he continues, “Weren’t they sad to see you go?”

“No. She knew that I’d learned all I could from her, and that it was time for me to leave. I _did_ promise to visit, though.”

“Ah, that’s good.” Iroh smiles, then frowns, putting a hand to his head. The room seems a lot brighter now than it had been when he’d entered, and the light is starting to hurt his eyes, adding to the escalating headache. His mouth dry, he glances at the teapot, ready to ask for another cup—

Spirit’s cup sits innocently on the table, untouched. But he’d forgotten, hadn’t he? This wasn’t just Spirit. This was a herbalist. Not a healer, a herbalist.

The herbalist’s cup sits ominously on the table, untouched.

“What did you _put_ in that tea?”

Spirit laughs again – a real laugh, he realises, not like the one they’d given him earlier, the one they’d given him to relax him, to put him at ease, _to make him let his guard down._ “You’re better than I’d thought,” they smile, looking at him through their lashes, “but you _are_ a royal, after all, so I shouldn’t really be surprised.”

Iroh’s knuckles whiten, and he draws in a deep breath. “What _is_ it? And _why?”_

Spirit smiles a smile of genuine humour. “Deadly nightshade berries,” they say, their voice honey-sweet. “Enough to kill you, but _not_ enough to do it fast. I have _questions,”_ their smile widen, and they fix him with an unflinching, narrow-eyed stare, “And _you’re_ the Dragon of the West and you can probably lie your way out of anything. But you don’t need to die. I know how to save you.”

“What do you want?”

Spirit’s smile doesn’t waver. “You can come out now,” they call, their gaze not leaving Iroh, and a small girl steps barefoot from behind a curtain, moving to sit beside Spirit on the cold stone floor, a little behind them and on their blind side. “I have questions,” Spirit repeats, “and I want you to answer _truthfully.”_

Iroh looks between them, uncomprehending. “Who are _you?”_

The girl looks at him blankly, and he blinks at her cloudy green eyes before she turns to Spirit, lifting one hand to cover her mouth.

Spirit turns their body slightly towards the girl, catching one green sleeve in their fingers. “She’s _insurance.”_ They smile reassuringly, and their smile is soft and kind and gentle and exactly as _bright_ and _sweet_ and _dangerous_ as their dual dao.

Iroh’s knuckles whiten further, both his heart and mind racing. The girl is blind – does she have any idea what kind of danger she is in? Why is she here in the first place? What would the Fire Lord do to her if they deemed his answers unsatisfactory?

“First question, _Dragon of the West,”_ the Fire Lord says coldly. “What do you think of this war, and what have you had to do with it since we last met?”

Iroh takes a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the girl. “The war is wrong,” he says eventually. “It should never have happened, and I want it to end – I want the Fire Nation to withdraw. I’ve been working to try and do that.”

The Fire Lord squeezes the girl’s wrist, and Iroh tenses. But the girl doesn’t seem to react, idly tapping a pattern onto their forearm. The Fire Lord lets out a breath through their teeth, and the girl pats their arm in response. “Next question, then. Tell me about your contacts.”

“I met them during my exile, after the Siege of Ba Sing Se,” he says warily. “They’re like-minded people – we all share a fondness for tea and Pai Sho, and are of the opinion that the war needs to end.”

The Fire Lord squeezes the girl’s wrist again, and the pattern of the girl's tapping changes. They seem to draw themselves up, a flinty look entering their eye. “You’re lying.”

The girl shakes her head, stopping her tapping to run her hand up the Fire Lord’s arm so that she can pat their shoulder. “No,” she cuts in, and Iroh flinches at her interruption. “Only _omitting_ something.”

The Fire Lord nods, eyes narrowing, and begins tapping a new pattern onto the girl’s wrist. _Of course – a code!_ “Well?”

Iroh stares at the girl a moment longer before shaking himself into the present. “We’re part of an organisation. The Order of the White Lotus.”

The Fire Lord finishes tapping their pattern, and the girl laughs harshly, elbowing them in the side. She sweeps up her free hand, then flicks it to the side in a sharp motion. The earth around Iroh buckles, caving in on itself to encase his feet in stone and winding around his fingers and wrists. The Fire Lord leans close to the girl, bumping their heads together and brushing their fingers against her shoulder. “And what _is_ the Order of the White Lotus?”

“An ancient organisation,” Iroh bites out. He's furious with himself – not only had he failed to do proper research, he’d allowed himself to be tricked by _children,_ and even dismissed their tapping-code. “Dedicated to finding and training the Avatar in times of need, and to freedom and harmony between the elements.”

“A bit late for _that,_ I think,” the earthbender grins, and the Fire Lord breaks eye contact for the first time to turn their head and glance at her out of the corner of their good eye. “Since there’s only really _three_ elements left, and telling the Avatar who they were early was what got us _into_ this mess in the _first_ place.”

The Fire Lord sighs. “Toph…” they murmur, gently tugging at the earthbender’s bangs, then sigh again at the indignant _but-it’s-true!_ expression on her face. Their gaze flicks back to Iroh, still restrained by white marble, then away, unfocused, to settle on a point somewhere behind him. “All right, then. Listen – you’re on the side of the Avatar? I’m his firebending master, and a Fire Lord chosen by Agni himself. _Toph_ here is his earthbending master. And I wasn’t lying earlier – I really _do_ mean to withdraw our troops.”

“Then why question me?” Iroh asks, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. “Why _poison_ me?”

“You led the Siege of Ba Sing Se,” Spirit explains grimly as Toph slides her foot along the floor, returning the stone bindings to their original state. “A lot of soldiers I treated had been reassigned after serving there. Here,” they say, pulling a pouch from their pocket, tipping its contents into their hand and offering Iroh the two dark beans. “Ordeal beans. They’ll counteract the deadly nightshade berries in the tea.”

“Well,” Iroh says wryly, swallowing the beans, “now that I’m no longer in danger of _dying,_ is there anything _else_ you’d like to ask?”

“Actually, yes,” Spirit smiles with their lips, leaning forward. _“Dragon of the West._ You claimed to have killed the last dragon. What do you know about the Sun Warriors?”

* * *

“So,” Sokka deadpans. “You went on a life-changing field trip with your uncle to the ruins of an ancient civilisation, and _all_ you brought back was this dumb rock?”

“No,” Spirit corrects, warily eyeing Toph’s wolfish grin as she snickered. They know she knows what it is – her earth sense is honed when it comes to heartbeats. “I learned the original form of firebending, too.”

 _“Really?”_ Aang bounces eagerly on his feet, his excitement tangible. “Can you show us?”

Spirit shakes their head. “I’m not allowed to firebend yet.” At their confused looks, they elaborate, “I can’t firebend until the Firesky Ceremony – traditionally, that’s the first time a new Fire Lord firebends. It’s scheduled for the night after the comet _(which we really need to rename, by the way),_ on the last night of the season.”

Aang’s face lights up. “I know that one!” he beams. “You have to firebend all through the night, right?”

Spirit grimaces. “That’s a crude explanation, but yes. It’s more complicated than that. In the ceremony,” they continue, “at sunset, I’ll create a big pillar of fire. Usually, the Sages and guards will help, to make it bigger, but I want to do it alone – I want to do it with the _original_ firebending, not with _Sozin’s_ forms. All of the towns and villages in the Fire Nation will organise shifts of firebenders; when they see my pillar, or _any_ pillar, if they’re too far away, they’ll light up their own, and so on, until the whole of the Fire Nation is doing it, and they’ll all stop when I stop using the same method.”

Katara frowns. “But _why,_ though?” she asks, manipulating water into images in an impressive display of fine control. “I get that it’s tradition, but – why? What if someone challenges you to a firebending duel, and you’re not allowed to firebend?”

“Agni Kais are postponed until the ceremony is complete.” Spirit shrugs. “If you want the new Fire Lord gone badly enough that you won’t wait, there’s always assassination. The point is to demonstrate how powerful you are, partly to ward off competition, mostly because the Fire Lord is supposed to protect their people. By lighting up the night, turning it into one long day, we prove we’re able to do that, even when we’re at our _weakest._ Challengers are permitted to withdraw if the Fire Lord is more powerful than they expected.”

“But then wouldn’t some people just never have the Ceremony? So they could never be challenged?”

Spirit nods to Sokka. “The first one to try that was assassinated after the turn of the season. After that, it was made law that it had to be done by the turn of the first season after the coronation – it also has to be on a full moon, when our opposite element is at its strongest.

“The Fire Lords who make it to sunrise are called Nightlights, and they’re revered for being just as powerful at _night_ as a regular firebender is during the _day,_ and it’s believed they were blessed by Agni. The first was an ancient Fire Lord by the name of Kintsukuroi, who helped heal the Fire Nation after her father’s tyranny, and until then, we’d had no idea it was even _possible._ But we haven’t had a Nightlight in centuries.”

“It should be easy for you.” Aang grins. “After all, you really _are_ blessed by Agni!”

Spirit shakes their head, uneasy. “I doubt it. No Nightlight has ever managed it alone.”

“Okay,” Sokka nods. “Firebending explained. Now can you explain the _rock,_ please?”

“Well, it’s not a rock, to begin with,” Spirit hums. “It’s a _dragon_ egg.”

Aang’s jaw drops. “But aren’t they extinct? Oh, can I _hold_ it?” At Spirit’s shrug, he snatches up the egg from where it lies on the desk, cradling it in his arms. “What will you call it?”

“Ooh, I know!” Sokka jumps to his feet. “What about—”

“Sokka,” Katara cuts in, “didn’t we ban you from naming anything, _ever?”_

“We did,” Toph agrees. “Foo-Foo Cuddlypoops was bad enough, but naming a royal messenger hawk _Hawky?_ Although I _am_ quite fond of Rocky…”

Sokka pouts. “But Druk’s a _good_ name.”

“Yeah, _no._ What about Liming?” Toph suggests.

“No, it should have a _Fire Nation_ name,” Aang argues. “Kuzon’s the best!”

“I’d offer Aluiqqanaq,” Katara butts in, “if I didn’t think they’d thought of a name already.”

Spirit smiles their thanks. “I have. Yuki, after Miyuki.” They turn to Sokka. “And after Yue, as well, since it means _snow.”_

“Oh,” Katara’s eyes soften. _“Thank you,_ Spirit. I think it’s beautiful.”

* * *

“Fire Lord Spirit?”

The Fire Lord smiles as they turn to face her, and she tamps down the reflexive flinch at their ravaged face, at the scar inflicted by their own father, as they beckon her in, their friends watching curiously from the comfortable-looking floor pillows that are scattered around the room.

“I’m Guard Choko, Fire Lord. You asked to see me?”

“I did,” they nod, and her grip on the basket’s handle tightens. “You’re the one who gave the kitchen those sun-cakes?”

“I am,” Choko forces a smile. “My wife’s a baker, and she insisted I bring them. You’ve been away a long time, if I may, and we thought…”

“Thank you,” the Fire Lord nods, “and please pass along my compliments. Perhaps time has made me fonder, but those were the best sun-cakes I’ve _ever_ tasted.”

“Thank you, Fire Lord!” Choko’s smile is real this time, and honestly, it's all she could do not to squeak, they're all so cute. “Actually, I have – ah, she sent me with more?” She holds out the basket like a peace offering.

The Fire Lord beams at her. “Oh, thank you both!” They stand and take the basket from her, lifting the lid to reveal still-warm sun-cakes stacked inside. “Here, Katara, Sokka, you _really_ have to try these. They’re a little like the moon-cakes we had at the North Pole, except they’re made with different ingredients, of course, it’s not like you can really get honey when you live on _ice_ – here, Guard Choko, won’t you join us?”

Choko sits, feeling awkward and irreverent as the only adult in a group of teenagers, and politely asks the Fire Lord – asks _Spirit_ – to _call me Choko, then, please._ And then Spirit laughs and tells her not to fear to look them in the eye, because _I'm not exactly following the example of their predecessors, am I now?_ and Choko lets herself look – really _look_ at them for the first time.

No one but the Fire Sages had been allowed to meet the Royal Family’s eyes for almost a century, ever since Agni’s blessing had faded from Sozin’s irises and his betrayal had been displayed for all to see. They had become muddy brown, losing their light, and Azulon and Ozai had been the same. Iroh, she’d been told, has amber eyes, not quite gold but not quite brown either, but _now—_

Spirit’s eye is golden. Not yellow, like hers, but _true_ gold, a colour that matches the glint of their crown when it catches the light as they turn their head to offer the Avatar a sun-cake. It's like looking at the sun through smoke-glass, and, in a split-second flight of fancy, she wonders if it would look _more_ or _less_ unnatural if the pupil was _slitted,_ rather than _round._

They look like their mother, she realises, the hair on the top of their head not scraped away from their face like Ozai’s but gently swept up like Ursa’s, softening their face. But, at the same time, they look _different,_ too, _strange_ and _new_ in the way they wear their hair like a statement of _more_ than honour, in the way the sides are left loose in a manner reminiscent of a wolf-tail, in the way their topknot is more of a braided bun than tradition dictates and in the way it’s secured with nomad-orange ribbon, in the way their face is framed by two locks that have been looped back in the Southern girl’s style rather than hanging free like their sister’s, in the way beads shaped from sapphire and emerald are strung through the uppermost layer of hair, which has been painstakingly woven into an intricate spiderweb down their back. It’s _foreign,_ it’s _different,_ but it’s foreign and different in a way that makes it obvious that it’s _meant_ to be, and in Choko’s opinion, that makes it _good._

Her Fire Lord is a _dragon,_ that much is true. But they are _oh so very human,_ too.

* * *

Katara is upset. No – upset didn’t cover it.

She is _irate._

Spirit hasn’t been sleeping. They're convinced they're falling behind, convinced they need to make up for time lost visiting the Sun Warriors, and nothing she'd said could move them. So she’d told their resident healer, and now Katara’s heart rate is doing all _sorts_ of things that it probably shouldn’t be.

So, yeah, Katara is irate. She's eavesdropping on the argument from behind the closed office door, and _damn,_ that is one _hell_ of a screaming match. Katara had told Spirit, on no uncertain terms, that they needed sleep to function, then tried to wheedle them into it by pointing out that they’d probably work faster if they were well-rested. And _that_ had _really_ set them off.

It'd been half an hour _(half an hour of work-time lost,_ Spirit would say) before Katara finally throws her hands in the air and storms out, threatening to knock Spirit out when they're least expecting it, because even if it wasn’t technically sleep, they’d still be unconscious for a few hours. Toph scrambles out of the way as Katara kicks the door open and slams it behind her, face flushed with anger and breathing deeply. She doesn’t look the least bit surprised to find Toph crouched outside, sheepishly tugging at the hem of her shirt.

 _“Please_ tell me you’ve thought of something to get them to sleep,” Katara all but begs.

“I have, actually,” Toph grins, brandishing a scroll like a murder weapon. “They love theatre, right? And I’ve never been. If nothing else, it’ll get them to relax for a while.”

Katara groans, flopping to the floor, half in relief and half in despair. “Thanks, Toph,” she mumbles, the words muffled by the floor. “If this works, I’ll owe you one, because _that—”_ she pushes herself up on one elbow to fling her other arm in the general direction of the door, “—is the most stubborn, mulish, _badger-bullheaded_ patient I have _ever_ had the dubious pleasure of dealing with, and – no offense – I’ve treated _you!”_

“None taken,” Toph laughs. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”

When she enters, Spirit is half-slumped over their desk, head in one hand and quill in the other, tapping it against the desk in a nonsense rhythm as they try for the third time to make sense of the report lying innocuously in front of them. She stands there for a moment before realising that they _genuinely hadn’t noticed her,_ which is so out of character that it ramps up her concern by several notches, at which point she takes pity and loosely tosses the scroll at them.

Spirit makes a startled noise as they're taken unawares by a scroll to the head courtesy of their youngest friend.

“Toph?” She can _hear_ their blink; evidently they're having difficulty keeping their eyes open. “Why are you here? Didn’t you have an earthbending lesson with Aang?”

“That was _yesterday,_ Fire Lord Numbskull,” Toph raises her eyebrows, tapping her foot impatiently.

Spirit doesn’t move for a few more seconds, then slowly reaches for the scroll, the lacklustre movement lacking its usual alacrity. “What— is this a _theatre scroll?_ Since when were you interested in _Love Amongst the Dragons?”_

 _Oh, so that was what it was?_ “Since now, Sparks,” she retorts. “It struck me that my parents never allowed me out of the property, so I’ve never been to the theatre, and it’s not like I can read it by _myself,_ now, is it? Besides, I hear you do killer voices…”

“You want me to read you a theatre scroll.” Spirit realises. _“You_ … want _me_ … to read you a _theatre scroll.”_

“Well, _duh,_ Sparks, I thought that much was obvious when I threw it at your _head.”_

“Oh, to the spirits with it all,” Spirit sits up. “Why not?”

An hour later, they're sprawled on the floor pillows they’d migrated to for comfort, still reeling from the cliffhanger that was the end of Act One, Spirit with their head cradled on Toph’s shoulder and Toph tiredly combing through their hair with her fingers, when Spirit sleepily says, “I wonder if they’ll make a play about us, one day.”

Toph blinks blearily. “What? About us _what?”_

“Y’know,” Spirit waved a hand vaguely through the air. “Defeating Ozai ‘n’ all.”

“Nah,” Toph yawns. “That bit’s all _secret,_ remember? Now, findin’ ‘n’ trainin’ the Avatar who’d been missing a hundred years in the middle of a _war,_ on th’other hand…”

“It'd be nice,” Spirit sighs dreamily. “I can see the casting call already. _Toph: master lie detector, student in the art of subtlety and gleeful accessory to murder.”_

Half-heartedly, Toph punches their shoulder. “Yeah, and I can see yours, too. _Spirit: two-faced herbalist, big-sibling friend and secret criminal extraordinaire.”_ She snorts softly at her own pun.

Spirit stills. “You mean that?”

Toph strokes their hair gently. “Mean what?”

“Big-sibling friend?” Spirit’s voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, like they're having trouble vocalising the thought.

“Yeah, Sparks,” Toph presses the underside of her chin to the top of their head. “Yeah, ‘course I do. Never meant anything more in my _life.”_

“Even more than being the greatest earthbender in the world?”

“Yes, Spirit,” Toph murmurs, her voice equally hushed. “Yes, _even more_ than that.”

Another hour later, when Katara passes the door and peeks in to investigate the sudden silence from within, she finds the pair sound asleep, using each other as pillows, uncaring of the actual pillows strewn haphazardly around them. She smiles fondly as she brushes a hand over where strands of both their long black hair has met and mingled, and pulls a blanket from where it's stowed on top of a cabinet, gently laying it over them and tiptoeing out for fear of waking them.

* * *

“Have you heard the news?”

Kori looks up, startled to find his new firebender friend standing beside him. They’d been lucky enough that, with orders not to fight, both their respective commanding officers had been optimistic enough to allow their troops to share much-needed supplies with their once-enemies.

“No,” he smiles, because Teruko’s grin is infectious. He pats the ground next to him and Teruko takes the invitation, dropping comfortably onto her knees in a position Kori can’t hold for more than five minutes. She gestures to his sewing, and he gratefully hands it off to her; as much as he was the go-to guy if you wanted some new garment made, whenever he tried to mend things the edges only ended up wrinkled and frayed, and liable to catch and unravel at the slightest of disturbances. Teruko makes a _how-did-you-even-do-this?_ face at the mangled stitches as she pulls out her knife and starts unpicking the mess of thread and fabric. “What’s new?”

“We just got our orders for the comet,” she says, and Kori stiffens _(she’d been smiling, though, so surely…)._ Teruko elbows him in the ribs. “Come on, don’t be like that!” she laughs. “Didn’t I tell you I had a good feeling about this Fire Lord? And didn’t I tell you my feelings are never wrong? We’re under strict orders _not_ to attack. We’re _also_ under strict orders to burn down anyone who _does_. And they even sent a copy to _all_ of the officers, _and randomised infantry,_ not just the highest-ranked, to make sure the nasty ones couldn’t lie about it! Look!”

“You’re _kidding,”_ Kori breaths, taking the proffered scroll from his friend, who's still hunched over his tunic, teasing out the last stitch. “That’s wonderful!”

Teruko flashes him a grin as she looks up to take his sewing kit from his lap. “And yours?”

“Only to retaliate if attacked, and only against the attacker – and same as you, to prevent others from attacking. Ours were delivered in person though, not by hawk, and spoken by the cooking fires so nobody could claim ignorance. Seems the Earth King’s taking the same stance as your new Fire Lord. But…” He chews his lip, watching Teruko’s neat, fast stitches pull together the torn edges of fabric with ease that could only be born out of years on the front. “All that _power_ – how will you be able to just – _not use it?”_

Teruko shakes her head. “There’s even a special contingency order for that. Anyone who wants to experience the _rush,_ if you will, is allowed to participate in friendly spars, with referees to make sure nobody goes overboard or gets _too_ badly injured. We’re organising a tournament!” She says, her excitement palpable. “If you like, I can ask to add earthbending and weapons matches as well – and hand-to-hand, too. We can compare fighting styles!” She ties off the thread and casts him a curious look. “This is your outer tunic, right?”

“Yes, it is,” he nods. “And I’ll bring it up tonight, but I can’t imagine anyone wouldn’t want to join in.”

“Great! And you’ll have to warn everyone about Firesky, too – I’ll tell you about that one later, okay?” Teruko beams at him, delight written all over her face. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small stick of some silver metal he doesn’t recognise. “Now, watch closely, and I’ll let you in on a firebending tailors’ trick my father taught me, though it’s really only useful when you have a firebender around. If you melt just a little aluminium onto the seam, and spread it _very_ thin…”

* * *

At Spirit’s side, Sekitan shifts nervously, transferring his weight from foot to foot as they wait for sunset. The city is quieter than they’ve ever seen it before; anyone with family outside the Caldera had gone home to enjoy the comet’s passing in their hometowns, and most of them were staying for the night, taking the opportunity to participate in the Ceremony, seeing as the only flame in the caldera would be theirs.

They see movement out of the corner of their eye, and turn in time to see Sekitan shifting his weight again, then leaning back against a pillar with a huff. Then he catches sight of Toph looking in his direction with a mutinous expression plastered over her young features, and mutters an apology, clearly uncomfortable.

The sunset is mercifully quick, and Spirit mentally thanks Agni for the consideration. Yue crests the horizon as her brother sets, and night encroaches on the twilight sky as the first sliver of the full moon graces the Caldera with her greyscale light. Still, the cloudless, darkening sky seems oddly light, until they remember the side effect of Yue’s gift — a gift that was now beginning to come into full effect as they stood staring at the speckled sky.

“Fire Lord Spirit?” Sekitan hesitates as Spirit rolls their eyes, having given up on getting people to call them by their name alone months ago. Then they turn to face him, and have the unnerving experience of seeing everyone on that side do a double take. Their confusion must show, though, because Katara wordlessly uncorks her waterskin and freezes a mirror, and then they have the _even more_ unnerving experience of seeing their own eye glowing in the dark, pupil and iris both overcome by the otherworldly shine. The fact that it's only in their good eye only adds to the unnatural effect; they look downright supernatural. Spirit just sighs and rolls their eyes again as everyone stares wide-eyed: _of course_ Yue would neglect to mention that their eye would glow like a cat’s at night. They have no doubt she's having the time of her un-life watching this.

When it becomes obvious that Sekitan’s too disturbed to say whatever it was he was going to say, Spirit lifts their head to look at the stars. The lack of fire in the Caldera (or, indeed, anywhere in the Fire Nation) means that they’re clearer and brighter and more numerous than ever, a tapestry of something, something no mind could ever truly comprehend, painstakingly woven by whatever came before the spirits on the most _immense_ of scales.

And then suddenly, with no warning, something _slides_ into place in their mind, and then they can _sense_ the distant fire of even the most distant of stars.

They feel how they look. Light and warmth, concentrated in a band across the sky like the glow over the horizon of a forest fire beyond it, roaring and cracking but too far away to matter; like the feeling of holding your hand in the heat-haze over a fire. All working in perfect, eternal harmony, orbiting one another, turning with each other and the sun and the entire incomprehensible cosmos, and _somewhere,_ somewhere far away in the middle of it all is a great ball they can’t see but _can_ sense if only for its magnitude, its pull strong enough that it allows no light to escape but emits _heat-heat-heat_ and it is beautiful and terrifying and ever so _humbling._

And the moon — the moon, _Yue_ — sensing her is like touching the warm-hot glass of a lit lantern, different from fire but still _derived_ from it, muted light and heat — _a reflection._

They turn slowly, searching the sky. The Evening Star burns into their retina as they count constellations, and it's so much closer than they’d imagined possible for a star, even closer than the sun. They trace a cluster of stars until they land on the North Star, and they understand, finally, how their ancestors could look up at the night sky that’s not so sparsely decorated after all, and see dragons and badgermoles fighting an eternal battle in their light. The stars shine against the night like pinpricks poked into the dark fabric that shields their world from the raging inferno of whatever lay beyond all that anyone had ever known, mere glimpses of a greater whole. This world is the eye of the storm, and what happens here tonight will reach beyond this rockpool and ripple across the vastness of the unknown, will batter against the boundaries of the known universe and _rebound,_ echoing across the nothingness until the end of time itself.

“Fire Lord Spirit,” Sekitan says quietly, just as awestruck as them at the incandescent beauty of the clear night, reluctant to end the moment despite the necessity of it. “Tui has fully risen over the rim of the Caldera. Is it late enough yet?”

 _I understand,_ Spirit thinks. _This shift in power between order and chaos, between light and dark, will never end for as long as our world exists, and long beyond then, until the universe itself collapses in on itself and everything there ever was is crushed to dust. We are one, you and I, for you are stars and I am stardust._ They take one last look at the stars, creeping over the sky in that way of theirs that nobody notices until they do, then focuses on Yue’s soft light.

Spirit smiles and nods, fixing their gaze on the darkest crater on Yue’s dappled surface. “I think it’s been dark for long enough,” they say, and they feel their new Head Sage step back and away, but it wasn’t really _Sekitan_ they were talking to.

And then they light up the sky with dragonfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm just gushing about the stars, aren't I?  
> Yes, Toph and Spirit use Morse code.  
> Yes, poisons can be used to treat each other. Those two are only one real-world example. Weird, right?


	4. Doing It Right The First Time Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the night is over, and the day comes, and light falls on everything.
> 
> That's when people learn their truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Okay.

When the dawn finally arrives, Sekitan has to tell Spirit, because they’re concentrating so hard they don’t even notice Agni’s resurgence. _Oh, that’s good,_ they say faintly, and then they collapse. It’s nothing Sekitan hadn’t expected, though, with how taxing the Ceremony is, and Guard Choko rushes forward to catch them.

“Welcome, Nightlight,” Sekitan says, the traditional words to greet a new nightlight, and hears them echoed by everyone in the plaza.

He lifts his face to the sky. The intense morning sun is chasing the pre-dawn eigengrau into the corners of the sky, and soon that strange soft colour of the sunrise that nobody has ever been able to describe will fill the sky, and it will flee just as quickly, replaced by the bright blue of Agni’s approval as their celestial eye, bright and light and white, lifts the burden of carrying the day from their chosen champion and begins the last third of Firesky.

(It is an eye that people will think of when they look into their not-spirit Spirit’s single unmarred eye and see its astral power reflected there and wonder, _was this always going to happen, was it predestined by some force beyond the spirits we know of or was it a cruel, wonderful twist of chance and fate that caused this ending instead of the countless other possibilities,_ except that they do not understand.)

(This is not an ending, _never_ an ending, for nothing ever ends, for everything that has ever been and ever _will be_ will last forever, for time is _meaningless_ and one thing will _always_ lead to another. _Our_ acts and their _aftermath_ will shape a future _we_ will never see, and yet we must have faith that everything that should be, _will be._ One day, after many, many years of slow sidereal time, the bones of our descendants will be crushed alongside the iron of distant, dying stars that we have never seen or even known _existed,_ and _nothing will matter_ because our universe will end – except that it _will_ matter, it _always_ matters, and maybe the dust that was once those bones will become the heart of a new star in the universe born from the death of _ours,_ and maybe our atoms will be scattered by the winds of its expansion through nebulae and neutron stars and _new life,_ and maybe we will live _forever_ in a world we will never know. Maybe everything we were and weren’t and _could have been_ will _always_ exist, always _has_ existed, because existence is _infinite_ and _mercurial,_ and this creation and destruction of the universe, of the greatest _whole_ we as humans can _conceive of_ is the only cycle that is truly, _inescapably_ eternal. Maybe death is inevitable. _Maybe life is, too.)_

(Our ancestors looked up at the sky and begged for answers, begged to know _what was the meaning, what was the point?_ They did not realise that anything that might have heard them _did not listen,_ too busy searching for the same answers for _themselves_ to consider these ephemeral creatures calling out for resolution. They did not _realise_ that we must win our answers _ourselves,_ and they did not realise that there _is_ no meaning to anything beyond what _we_ assign it, no _point_ to us beyond what purpose we _choose_ for _ourselves._ And we _must_ choose. Sooner or later, _we must choose.)_

(We forge _our own_ destinies in the fires of free will and fleetingness, and precious few have ever truly _understood_ what this means.)

(But we must try.)

_(What do you choose?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's finished!  
> There will probably (read: definitely) be a collection of oneshots at some point, I have too many ideas floating around in my documents.  
> I am immensely proud of this. I didn't know I had the imagination or commitment to write something like this, and I'm so so happy to find not only that I did, but also that people I've never met and will never meet enjoyed this as much as I did. Thank you all.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, I figured out line breaks!  
> Slightly different writing style in this one. The dialogue part has very little introspection. The introspection part has more introspection. I kinda split them up. This is the first time I've written a conversation between more than two characters, or made OCs, so it's kinda... eh.


End file.
